


Decisions

by historia_zooropa



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historia_zooropa/pseuds/historia_zooropa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry VII has an in-depth chat with his wife-to-be about the exact nature of her relationship with Richard III.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decisions

November 1485

She is standing in front of him in the solar. A well-trained princess but his question has shaken her.

\- So, Elizabeth, tell me, how far did he go?

Elizabeth says nothing. She had practiced this moment a hundred times in her head: big, confident smile: nothing happened, it’s all nonsense, gossip born out of a seditious court. People were trying to bring him down…  
Instead, one look at Henry’s unnerving look and all she can do is stare at the ground like a naughty schoolchild.

\- Elizabeth…

She feels her blood whooshing in her ears. She can feel her chest tightening, her eyes filling with tears…She feels like screaming. She will say anything, anything to fill this explosive silence.

\- I made a mistake. He… I … he was so sad. And lonely. I just, I just …

He says nothing. He is still staring at her, as helpless in this as she is. Both caught in a trap of their own making.

She mustn’t say. She mustn’t talk about approaching Richard, he of the red lips and those haunted, hungry eyes. She can’t say she went to him, like a moth to the candle of his need. She has to forget her hand on his cheek, his hand grabbing hers and bringing it to his mouth.  
And then, as inevitable as dawn, a pull, a drawn breath, and they are kissing, grabbing onto each other greedily, guiltily.  
She can hear him moan. Or is it her? Her body cleaved onto his, his tongue looking for her essence. A hard cock between them; a surprise, drawing her center to him like gravity.

Now the tears are flowing freely. Unconsciously, she buries her face in her hands, to hide the shame. The shame…her and her uncle in each others arms, fighting a losing lovers’ battle. Everything forgotten…

Henry is looking at her, he is unable to take his eyes off her. The beautiful curve of her neck, her full breasts, heaving. Her shoulders. The analytical part of his brain knows exactly what is going on, can guess as clearly as if he could see it in front of his eyes what passed between Elizabeth and his enemy. The same fascinated part of his brain can’t take his eyes off the trembling young woman going to pieces in front of him, acting out her own downfall. He is watching as one fascinated by the scene of an accident unfolding in front of him.

He remembers his position, he is king, she is his betrothed. She is admitting to him a mistake that no church could forgive, let alone a king. She knows that she is probably sealing her own fate. Who will have her now? The fallen princess, she is standing in front of the abyss.  
His heart can’t help but go out to her, he wants to hug her. I understand, I understand, I know what it’s like, desperation. But he remembers who he is supposed to be. He remains immobile, his stiffness the loudest condemnation.  
He also knows he has to make a decision, and quick.

She is now sobbing openly. She knows she has burned her last bridge. She is frozen, she knows that now it’s either the Tower or the nunnery. She can look forward to no honours, no husband, no home. It’s endgame.

Henry’s mercury mind is racing. He is weighing the chances. If he rejects her, half of England, Edward’s England, will turn its back to him. If he forgives her, he will forever be her cuckold. Does anyone know already? How far has this got?  
And when he looks at her, helpless in her desperation, her knowledge of defeat, a part of him can’t help but feel like he’s won. He wasn’t lied to; she couldn’t lie to him. He got to the truth. Isn’t the truth priceless? Even if it means that your intended has lain under your enemy’s weight?  
Enough of this. He has to save them both.

\- Elizabeth…Softly, like an invitation. Something in his voice makes her raise her eyes to him. And then, he asks, inanely:  
\- Are you with child?  
\- No, she says, no. He … he … I’m still a maid… I think.  
A hoot can’t help but escape him.  
– You think! Well, that’s good news I suppose.  
She is still a child, he is thinking. A maid. In mind at least, if not in body. We’ll see.

He surprises himself by realizing he has made his decision already.

\- Elizabeth, look at me. Look at me. Listen. No, no, don’t cry. I am … we are still where we were. I still want you to be my wife. Nothing has changed. This … I am happy to put it behind us and start afresh. These were confusing times, God knows, for you as well as for me. These times are over now. I am here, you are here, I am willing to honour my promise and make you my wife. If you agree, that is.

She is looking at him, unsure of what she’s hearing. Could this be true? She is too scared to believe it. But her heart can’t help but soar in hope.

He is close now, he is clutching her hands softly in his. Away from her face. Now his hands are on her cheeks, gently, so as not to scare her. He looks into her eyes. He says her name, again, softly. Elizabeth…

\- I will let you think, he says, clasping her hands in his and bringing them to his mouth for a soft kiss. I will let you think about it and decide. I will come back tomorrow.

And with that, he turns and walks out the room, and it feels like the air she breathes is closing in behind his retreating body.


End file.
